


Chapter 92.5: Cabin & Rain

by pseudocitrus



Category: Kamisama Hajimemashita | Kamisama Kiss
Genre: F/M, Lemon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nanami finally finds Tomoe; but he is not the same Tomoe she met and fell in love with in modern times. What should she do? What should "Yukiji" do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hardly have time for anything nowadays but after reading chapter 92 I was struck by such plot bunny *__*
> 
> TW: sexual assault (due to the scene in chapter 92)
> 
> I wrote this over the course of a frenzied night & morning, so please let me know if you find errors.
> 
> & (◡‿◡✿)

_The Tomoe carrying me right now_  
  
 _is not the Tomoe of the present_  
  
 _but the demon of 500 years ago_  
  
 _but_  
  
 _he has the same smell_  
  
Her mind raced. Her arms dangled out, stiff with poison. Tomoe’s hair, long and white, brushed her face as he moved on, and she felt the warmth of his shoulder prodding against her belly. Finally, Tomoe was here. Living, breathing, _here._  
  
And not here. Her numbed throat didn’t cry out when she was was thrown on the floor. Tomoe crawled over her, heavy and hot and hard-handed.  
  
“Look at me.” When his voice met her ears, her heart leaped with exuberance and panic.  
  
 _Tomoe!_  
  
 _Tomoe — of 500 years ago._ The Tomoe that had torn the collar of her clothing when she had first met him in the past, and was doing it again now, pulling at her clothing, going further, touching her skin.  
  
 _I’m scared. I’m scared, and..._ She couldn’t tell — couldn’t tell if she was excited or terrified. Her skin prickled with fires that he set casually across her body.  
  
“Hey. Look at me.”  
  
Somewhere in her heart, there was a part of her that didn’t refuse his touch— a part that had longed for him, for his warmth and touched, for months, even before he had fallen ill in modern times. If only she could move, and embrace him back — she felt her body shudder in hot waves as he wrapped his hands in her hair. She felt it prickle with cold and delighted panic as he revealed her. _Is this really happening?_ It felt so good. Slowly he was coming into focus and she wanted to see him. Her longing for him had been swollen in his absence and now that Tomoe was here, here, _here_ , it had burst and become something desperate and hungry. It didn't matter if it was the Tomoe of the past or of modern times, this was the Tomoe she liked, the Tomoe that —  
  
"Look at me, Yukiji."  
  
 _Yukiji._  
  
Finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were glassy with tears and all at once his vigor and delight at having found her deflated. He stopped and stared back with confusion and dismay and something strong and new that stabbed him and made him reel.  
  
She was just a human. What had he been thinking — dragging her around like this, when he knew humans were so easily broken — their bones like twigs you could break just by stepping wrong, their skin no better than the skin of ripened peaches. Had he hurt her already? What if she was in pain —  
  
"...se," came a sound from her trembling mouth, and he fixed his ears forward to hear her better. "Please..."  
  
 _Yukiji_. That's right. This was not the Tomoe she had fallen in love with — the Tomoe who could make doing laundry into an art form, who presented her with teasing smiles, who laughed on roller coasters. That Tomoe did not exist yet.  
  
And, soon, might cease to exist forever.  
  
Misery flooded her, shouldered past the poison’s numbness to pour out of her. Tomoe grew blurry again, indistinct. She couldn't believe the shallow, stupid simplicity of the jealousy that she'd felt before, when Tomoe smiled at other women. She couldn’t believe the immature, stupid happiness she had had when Tomoe smiled at her. He didn't care about them. It was Yukiji for whom he would trade his long demon's life for a short one that he could spend with her. It was Yukiji that he loved — _would_ love — would forget about loving, to spare his demon's heart. The beautiful, brave, and kind _Yukiji_. The person Nanami was not.  
  
And if Tomoe died, she would never have the chance for him to really see her.  
  
"Don't look at me," she managed, through poison and tears. "My face — looks horrible — don’t look at me —"  
  
How could she have dared to be so happy to see him? This Tomoe wasn’t hers. The realization wracked her with noisy grief. At loss, Tomoe readjusted her clothing. Then drew her toward him, haltingly.  
  
"Don’t cry like that," he murmured. He felt her shake against him and clutch his robes and he held her more tightly, as if it could quell her shaking. Did he really break her? Her voice came out in gasps, much different than the whispers he had heard when he was "ill.” He remembered how her soft voice had calmed him in the haze of his healing; but when she cried...  
  
"When you cry, it puts my thoughts out of order...” He held her head, ears flicking as she wept onto his shoulder. Each tear brought her further away from poison and closer to composure. Her thoughts pulled free of the part inside her that had leaped at Tomoe’s touch. She inhaled deeply, her breath growing steady.  
  
She needed to remember, firstly, that this was not Tomoe.  
  
Secondly, she was not Nanami.  
  
And, finally: she had a job to do.  
  
Sniffling, she pulled away from him and dabbed her eyes on her wet kimono sleeves. “Okay,” she told herself, “okay,” and she backed away, and stood.  
  
“Are you okay?” Tomoe asked.  
  
“Yes,” she told him, “I’m okay.” But when he reached for her, she pulled away, stumbling back on her slightly-numb legs.  
  
“No. Don’t touch me.”  
  
He flattened his ears. “Why?” he demanded, and was startled when the woman before him snapped back, "Isn’t it obvious? You dropped me on the ground! That _hurt_! And you were going to —"  
  
Her face flushed. Tomoe was glaring at her, with eyes she couldn’t recognize, filled with fury that made her shake inside. This was not the Tomoe that Nanami knew. Nanami had never had to stand up to a Tomoe like this, who had blood on his hands, and even less compassion for humans than he had had in modern times.  
  
But...maybe Yukiji had.  
  
She steeled her voice and continued. "You were going to take advantage of me. And I won’t allow that."  
  
Her voice still staggered with tears, but it was strong and he was shocked that it could come out of a mere human. This was not the calm voice he had heard from her, nor the crying one, but something different. She spoke to him like Akura-ou — like she thought of herself as his equal. He remembered the bright glare of the woman he had met that rainy day and smiled. For the first time in days the debilitating boredom that had gripped him retreated.  
  
This was really interesting.  
  
"What will you allow, then?"   
  
"I’ll allow you," she said, "to apologize," and Tomoe’s smile faded.  
  
"Me? Apologize to a mere human?" he sneered.  
  
So the Tomoe that she knew was further away than she thought. Nanami looked at him sadly, then shook her head.  
  
"Fine. Goodbye," she announced, and started towards the door of the little hut.  
  
"Wait," Tomoe said as she reached the door, and she forced herself to ignore him.  
  
" _Wait_!" he shouted, and this time she heard him coming toward her and she turned around and snarled, " _Don’t touch me_."  
  
His hand — the outstretched claws — fell before her glare. He was confused. She was leaving? How could he stop her? Stop her without hurting her, which he knew by her humanity was easy to do, despite all the strength flaring out of her. He wanted her _here_. But even if he carefully dragged her back, her voice wouldn’t be warm anymore — it would be filled with those tears, or this anger — and the thought of that made his chest ache.  
  
"You owe me," he told her, "I _saved_ you," and he was taken aback when she laughed.  
  
"I saved _you_ first, To” — she shook her head — “No, _fox_. As far as I’m concerned, you no longer owe _me_."  
  
She turned back toward the door. He started again. "What if Akura-ou finds you? He’ll kill you. You won’t have a chance! You’re just a human!"  
  
She didn’t bother answering him this time, just kept walking into the rain-filled dark. Into the forest, where demons would smell her, and eat her — where cruel human men could easily overpower her — where even a simple snake no longer than his arm could bite her, and fill her with poison that could kill a human in a heartbeat, or less —  
  
"Stop!" he shouted, and flushed with shame at the begging in his voice. And still she ignored him.  
  
One last thing to try. "I’m sorry." The words felt like spitting up rocks. And still she walked.  
  
"I’m _sorry_!" he yelled, and this time she stopped advancing.  
  
"For what?" she demanded, turning back, and he steeled himself, made fists.  
  
"I’m sorry that I hurt you." He realized he was telling the truth. He continued. "I won’t do it again. I vow that I won’t." Please just stay.  
  
"Don’t do it again," she told him, "to _anyone_ ," and he could no longer imagine why he’d ever want to.  
  
"Never. I’m sorry," he added again, for good measure, and to his relief Nanami nodded.  
  
"I forgive you." She smiled at him, beautifully. Relief flooded him, and awe. Her smile gave her voice a shape that was musical. The tightness in his chest lightened; the rain falling on him suddenly felt soothing and soft.  
  
And then she turned away again.  
  
"You’re still going?" he said in shock.  
  
"I have important things to do," she said. _Like save you, hundreds of years from now._  
  
"I’m going to come with you," he decided, to which she said fiercely, “No."  
  
The last thing she needed was to give him any ideas about who he could ask when he wanted to become human.  
  
"Then at least wait until the rain stops," he pleaded. "Yukiji."  
  
The name stopped her. She looked back. Tomoe stood there, his long hair ropy with water, his fiery robes dropping and heavy. His face was pleading and bewildered, and affection swelled up in her. She had never seen the modern Tomoe with such a pitiful look. And she knew, seeing him, that this was the first time in his life that his heart was stirring and aching with feelings of love.  
  
She considered, brow furrowing. What was Yukiji supposed to do here? One wrong move and Nanami might ruin her chances at meeting Tomoe in the future. Tomoe had to fall in love with Yukiji. How could she make his heart ache more?  
  
"It won’t hurt to wait a little," she decided, and smiled when he saw Tomoe’s ears perk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is NSFW.
> 
> i wrote this over the course of a frenzied night & morning, so plz let me know if you find errors.
> 
> & enjoy ^_^)

Once she return to the dry cabin, she was glad that she had returned. It became obvious how wet her clothes were. She couldn’t afford to get sick now.  
  
"Look away," she told Tomoe.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I’m..." She hesitated, and then shook her head. No — she wasn’t Nanami right now, but Yukiji. She remembered how Yukiji had spoken to the men of her village: impassive, firm. "I’m going to take off my clothing, and I don’t want you to see."  
  
"Why are you going to take it off?"  
  
"Because it’s wet.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So...I might get sick."  
  
"Sick? From the water?"  
  
"From the cold," she explained patiently. "And from germs, probably."  
  
"Germs?"  
  
"Just look away already!"  
  
She watched until he sat facing a corner and then turned around and began peeling her clothing off. Even with Tomoe looking away, she only dared to remove her obi and outermost kimono completely. The cabin had a sort of fireplace, a square area inset in the ground that was filled with ashes and wood, and she wrung the kimono and obi over it, then hung it awkwardly on a pot hook. It wouldn’t dry soon, but it was better than nothing.  
  
She searched the cabin and found a threadbare kimono, with nothing to tie it shut completely.  
  
"I want to look."  
  
"Not yet." She pulled the kimono on. Luckily, it was huge. She held the sides together over her chest and sat down on the other side of the room, arranging the kimono so she was covered.  
  
"Okay," she said, "you can turn around now."  
  
He did. He looked curiously at the clothing she had dangled over the ashes, and then to her, at the other side of the room. She was far away. And what she was wearing now covered her far too much.  
  
He looked back at the dangling clothing. "So now you won’t get sick?"  
  
"No. Well, probably not. I’m still pretty cold."  
  
"So humans can die of cold,” he said thoughtfully.  
  
"I’m sure demons can too," she said, defensively for some reason, and Tomoe shrugged.  
  
"It can slow us down. Maybe make us tired. I might trap an enemy in a cold place, but I wouldn’t be able to do much else."  
  
"Ehh? That’s pretty lucky. Humans have a lot of problems in the cold. Cold can make us sick and sniffly...then there’s hypothermia, of course...”  
  
“Hypo...?”  
  
“That is, if humans get too cold, they can’t do anything. Or, frostbite — that if our fingers or toes get too cold, they die, and have to be cut off..."  
  
Tomoe listened in disbelief. Humans were getting weaker by the minute. How could he ever protect her from everything?  
  
"Are cold right now?" Tomoe asked, with a hint of panic, and Nanami laughed.  
  
"Well, I am pretty cold, but I should be fine. I’ll just wait for that clothing to dry and I’ll be nice and warm."  
  
He looked at her, then at the dangling kimono. "I see," he said, and then approached the fireplace. He placed his hand into it, releasing a blue-black flame that began to crawl and multiply over the ashes. Then he stood and unwrapped the kimono and held it over the foxfire, out of its reach. It spat softly as water dripped on it.  
  
Nanami watched, her heart aching as she thought of modern Tomoe amongst the shrine’s billowing laundry. She smiled. It seemed that even hundreds of years ago Tomoe had had a penchant for caring for clothing.  
  
"Thank you," she said, and he looked away from her as his face warmed.  
  
"Come closer," he mumbled, "and warm yourself up here."  
  
She stood, clutching her clothing closed, tiptoeing carefully and leaving small wet footprints. She sat on an adjacent side of the fire, shivering delightedly at the warmth, and watched as he carefully dried out the kimono.  
  
"Um, here," he said finally, and Nanami reached out as he handed it to her. This time Tomoe turned around before she said anything, and she put her back to him and put on the kimono, newly dry and wonderfully warm. Her underwear was still damp, though — she hesitated, and then quickly stripped out of them, hiding them in the folds of the old kimono.  
  
When she turned around again, Tomoe was stepping out of his robes.  
  
"Wh — _what are you doing_?" she shrieked, and Tomoe frowned at her.  
  
"I want to dry my clothes too."  
  
"So you’re just going to take them all off?! _Right here_?"  
  
He looked confused. "Yeah."  
  
"At least give me a warning, or something! Jeez!" She squeezed her hands over her face. "I’m going to die of embarrassment."  
  
"Die of embarrassment?" He quickly tugged the wet robes back on.  
  
"No, it’s — just an expression — I won’t really die," she said. He didn’t look reassured.  
  
"Go ahead," Nanami told him, "just do it," and she turned around, listening to Tomoe wring his long robes, fighting down her blush as the image of his slender and muscled body rose unbidden behind her eyelids. She watched the foxfire flicker over the dark walls.  
  
When he had completely finished drying his clothing, the rain was still pattering in his ears, and he was glad that there was an excuse for her not to leave yet. He wanted to talk to her more — to make her laugh more — to listen to her voice, her weird words, to learn more about her. He’d never felt so interested in a human before, much less in anything. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, she yawned.  
  
"You’re tired?" Tomoe asked, and Nanami nodded.  
  
"I should get to sleep," she said. "I’ll have to be ready for tomorrow."  
  
"The rain might not let up tomorrow," he pointed out hopefully.  
  
"Raining or not, I’ll need to leave. Do you want to sleep in shifts?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"In case someone comes," she explained, and Tomoe scoffed.  
  
"No one would dare come near me," he told her. She looked at him skeptically.  
  
"Even when you’re sleeping?"  
  
"Especially then," Tomoe said. "No one would want to wake me up and face my wrath."  
  
He wanted to impress her, but instead she laughed. "Right. In that case, I’ll go ahead and sleep. Good night, Tomoe."  
  
"Good night," he said back. The words were strange in his mouth, but not unpleasant. He lied down on the ground and watched as she bundled up the old kimono and used it as a pillow. He listened as her breath grew slow and heavy.  
  
Did humans have words for when they wake up? He searched his memory. _I think it’s..."Good morning."_  
  
He wanted to say that to her. He wanted to hear her say it back. He began to pace, quietly, glancing every now and then at her back. His boredom had dissipated, replaced with restlessness. He forced himself to sit and then removed his pipe from his sash but couldn’t bring himself to smoke. It wasn’t what he wanted.  
  
Without her smiling by his foxfire, the cabin felt dark and cold and mediocre. He rolled his pipe across the ground.  
  
After a while he heard her breathing becoming labored, and he tipped his ear toward her. She adjusted her position to sleep again, but he could hear her breath shudder. She inched closer to the fire but couldn’t get nearer without falling into the ashes.  
  
He walked toward her cautiously. "Yukiji," he whispered. "Are you cold?"  
  
"...yeah."  
  
"Can I touch you?" he asked.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I want to make you warm.”  
  
Nanami swallowed. Her heart beat faster and when she didn’t answer Tomoe said, "Yukiji?"  
  
"...yeah, yeah, it’s okay," she mumbled. The boards creaked as Tomoe rested beside her, and she caught her breath as his arms encircled her, one beneath her head and one over her waist.  
  
Tomoe caught his breath too. Having this woman close to him — after making him turn away, after shouting, after walking away from him in the rain — felt like a miracle.  
  
"Will you turn toward me?" he asked. She didn’t answer for a moment, but then did it, rolling around in place until her face rested before his chest, eyes downcast, face flushed slightly. He drew her tightly to him and buried his face in her still-damp hair, inhaling and feeling his muscles relax. She smelled wonderful. How was it that out of all the women he had ever embraced, none of them had made him ever feel this way before — relaxed, at peace?  
  
Nanami closed her eyes, rested against Tomoe’s robes. He was surprisingly hot. It was as if the flames on his robes were real. She felt warmed from the inside out, brow to toes. The heat reached a space inside of her, something that had been lit earlier that day, and she shivered.  
  
"Are you still cold?" he asked her, and she shook her head.  
  
"No...I’m very warm now...thank you." Her hands had been clutching themselves over her chest and in a burst of inspiration she wrapped her arms around him too. Her fingers bunched in his robes.  
  
Though she was a human, that light grip had the power to take his breath away. He combed his fingers through her hair, careful not to puncture skin with his claws. The light touch across her head sent shivers down Nanami’s spine that shook her up until she felt she was filled with butterflies, and she was startled by the sudden, tender violence rising in her. She wanted to hug him until her arms ached with the pressure. She wanted to kiss him so fiercely he ran out of breath. Nanami had never felt these things. And Nanami would never act on them.  
  
But...would Yukiji?  
  
"Tomoe," she said suddenly, and when he looked down and focused his ears on her she pushed herself up and kissed him, her mouth falling soft and warm on his lower lip. Tomoe stiffened and she felt a stab of panic — did she go too far? — but then he squeezed her so hard that her breath left her, and she squeaked against his mouth, which he pressed against hers hard and fast.  
  
She cried out sharply, and Tomoe withdrew as Nanami pressed her hands to her mouth.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, full of fear — what had he done — he tried to pull her hand away and Nanami pulled it away long enough to say, "It’s okay, I’m fine —"  
  
She looked the hands she had pressed to her mouth. "I’m bleeding," she realized in surprise. Tomoe leaned toward her and Nanami winced away. He swallowed, hurt.  
  
"I’ll be careful," he reassured her, and when Nanami nodded he leaned toward her again, and licked at the cut he’d made. In a moment it had stopped bleeding and he resumed kissing her, gently, gently, forcing himself to imagine her like glass, or paper, and somehow the focus on the slow, slightest touch of her made the kissing exquisite and sweet. He concentrated on her softness, her flavor, the curious way she began to kiss him back again, exploring him as he did her. He felt her tremble in his arms and clutch his clothing.  
  
He wanted her. He wanted her voice, a new tone of it, fierce with wanting him too. He moved his arm from around her waist and used it to feel through her kimono, places he’d felt before on other women but seemed completely new on her: the slope of her hip, her belly, her undulating ribs, and finally, the slope of one breast, which fit perfectly in his hand. He rubbed it, arrested by the softness and warmth and trust that she had for him. His thumb found her nipple, which was erect already with the cold, or maybe the new heat rushing through her, and for a moment her mouth slackened against his, released a quiet moan that filled his ears.  
  
Nanami’s head rushed, her thoughts moving so fast that she felt they were leaving her, were starting to float around her body, concentrating on newly awakened parts of her body — the breasts that felt impossibly good when Tomoe touched them, her fingers that lit with Tomoe’s heat when she touched his arm, the spot between her legs that ached until she pressed herself closer to him, and even then it only abated for a little, before it wanted even more to get close. She began to tug her clothing loose from its sash.  
  
"You’ll get cold," Tomoe interrupted, and she shook her head and smiled at him.  
  
"You'll keep me warm, won’t you?" Armed with the guise of Yukiji, with the bravery of her thrumming body, she took his hand and put it on her bare breast. To have someone touch her there felt new and raw and terrifying and exhilarating. For an instant her brain screamed with the forbidden-mess of it, and then, she was free; she fell into pleasure as Tomoe grabbed her breasts with both hands, and began rubbing them with infinite delicacy. His hair tickled against her ribs as he rearranged himself and began to lick her nipples. He forced himself into gentleness. He could feel already that his slightest touch reverberated throughout her whole body, made her breath stagger and voice whine and gasp with delight. Every sound of hers moved him. He found his own breath coming in spurts, fighting against the frantic drum of his heart.  
  
He adjusted, rolling her onto her back and bracing himself above her with his right arm. Her hair splayed beautifully around her. His mouth moved across her other breast and he began to slide his hand beneath her kimono. Her thighs were silky and cool against his palm. He felt gently until his thumb brushed the short hairs between her legs, and he felt her thighs tighten together. She shuddered beneath him, though this time he couldn’t tell whether from fear or pleasure.  
  
“Yukiji?”  
  
His brows were furrowed with concern, bewilderment. Nanami gazed back. He was so beautiful — and she missed him so much — and this felt so good, but — should she? Should she not? Should Yukiji? What if Yukiji didn’t? Her thoughts raced around until finally a truth began to billow out and float bright above them all. She didn’t care if she should or if she shouldn’t.  
  
 _I want to._  
  
"Go on," she urged, and he did, placing his hand around the curve of her, palm resting on the area above her clit. She bit her lip and gasped and lifted against him as he caressed her. Her breath plumed in the cold room. She moved so fiercely he was afraid she would hurt herself and relented a little and she took the moment to look at him with hazy eyes.  
  
"Let me feel you too," she murmured, but before he could say anything she was tugging at his clothing, exposing his chest and stomach and rubbing her hands across him. Her touch was clumsy but firm and tender and he shuddered and made himself breathe calmly, relax, prevent himself from gorging on her.  
  
She wasn’t shy. She parted his robes to explore him and he shrugged them off for her; her hands tangled in his hair as they traced the muscles of his back and pulled him towards her. Their bodies met, centimeter by centimeter, the warmth between them growing where they made contact. Her legs parted when their hips came together. Her ankle rested on his lower back.  
  
She reached forward to kiss him, and swallowed his moan as her hand swept across his lower stomach, and wrapped around him. His ears flattened with pleasure and as she moved her hand up and down on his shaft he whispered encouragements cleaved with groans.  
  
It was amazing to see this brand new side of Tomoe, one that she found she could control without use of godly magic at all. The feel of him straining above her was delicious in a way she could never have imagined. Closer, closer, she wanted to get closer — she pulled him toward her and his face rested against her neck, perfectly — she guided him to the moistness between her legs and cried aloud when he slipped in. All the nerves of her body seemed to feel every hot centimeter of him. Her fingers fluttered and he held her hands, moving them over her head as he braced himself and pushed in completely. Her toes curled. He kissed her throat and tasted the salt of her perspiration, or maybe his own.  
  
Careful, careful. He couldn’t afford to hurt her now. He withdrew slowly, ears flicking as sucked in air, and then pushed himself into her again, more quickly, then more quickly again, soon losing himself to her and her moist, soft grip around him. As he plunged into her Nanami’s grip on his back tightened and left crescents on his skin from her fingernails. Her calves crossed behind his back. She wanted him closer — closer — _closer —_  
  
The pleasure swelled until it was on the border of pain. Her muscles all began to tighten. She felt as if something was inflated inside every cell in her body, growing bigger and bigger, and suddenly it burst across her in bright burning waves. Tomoe cried out loud against her ear and warmth filled her, belly to fingertips.  
  
The blood pounding in her ears faded, leaving just the sound of their mingled panting. She felt exhausted by the feelings that had moved through her like storms and oceans. Tomoe removed himself and sprawled across her, body slack except for his breathing.  
  
“Are...” He cleared his throat. “Are you warm?”  
  
“Yeah,” she told him, “I’m pretty warm,” and laughed.  
  
The sound filled him and somehow it felt even better than when he had come.  He reached towards her and held her to him. He wanted her to be his — his to share laughter with, to watch smile, for the rest of his days. The feeling surged in him suddenly, filled him with urgency, made his heart hurt with the vicious realization of it. He clutched her. What was this?  
  
"I won’t let anyone hurt you," he murmured, trying to explain. His voice was serious and low. "And I will never let anyone or anything else hurt you, whether it’s a snake, or a demon, or the cold."  
  
He realized as he said it that it was true. Something about his world had changed; since she had picked him up from the riverbank it had been warmer, and sharper in her presence. He wanted to say so much more to her; even though she was still so new to him, he wanted her to understand him completely. But before he could babble on she raised her hand to his face.  
  
"I know, Tomoe," she said, smiling. His name sounded beautiful in her voice, and she said it so easily, as if even after the short time they knew each other she was used to it, and somehow in that instant it seemed impossible to him that she was a mere human and not some divine being whom he had been destined this whole time to meet.


End file.
